The Jackal of Nar (27 page)

I
t was nearly noon when Richius awoke and found that an early snow had fallen. In this part of the Empire, snow was as ordinary as the changing of seasons, but autumn hadn’t gone yet and winter was still weeks away. He quickly splashed his face with the cool water from his washbasin and went to the window, pushing it open. The old iron frame screeched and flecks of rust tumbled down the tower, caught up in a stiff northern breeze. Richius took a long, sweet breath. He could taste the morning, and the brightness of the day forced his eyes into slivers. It was only a light snowfall, more like a sheet than a blanket, but it covered the courtyard and the hills beyond the castle in a brilliant mantle of white. On the horizon, Aramoor’s giant green fir trees were dressed in coats of frost and topped with hats of ice. Below him Richius could see the castle garden and its frozen, dormant rosebushes, and past the place where the courtyard ended, stable hands were milling tracks in the snow and grooming the coats of warhorses. Richius sighed. He had not seen snow for almost two years, and the perfect picture through his window made the word
home
ring in his head like a church bell.

Aramoor in late autumn. Home. He smiled and turned from the window just as a snowball clipped the back of his head. The sudden explosion of frost in his hair made him jump and he whirled around.

“Patwin!”

Far below, Patwin was doubled over with laughter, his guffaws echoing through the courtyard, catching the attention of the stable hands and workers. His face was purple with glee.

“I’m sorry!” he managed between chortles. “You moved.”

Richius squirmed as the melting ice trickled under his nightshirt. “Idiot!” he called back, more startled than angry. At least Patwin hadn’t packed the snowball too tightly.

Patwin got unsteadily to his feet, little rivers of tears running down his face. “Sorry. I just wanted to frighten you, really. I didn’t even think I could reach!”

“Well you can. And what are you doing back here anyway? I thought you were going riding with Jojustin.”

“It’s almost noon, Richius. We just got back. Have you been sleeping all this time?”

Richius nodded and looked up into the sky. Somewhere above him the sun was glowing dimly behind a shroud of clouds. He had guessed right about the time.

“Well, come down for breakfast. Jenna’s fixing some eggs and honey bread for Jojustin and me.” He winked up at Richius. “I’m sure she’ll make you some if you ask her nicely.”

“Stop,” Richius said, lowering his voice so no one else could hear. “I told you I’m not interested in her. Did you check the fences by the east ridge?”

“They’re fine, except for some holes where wolves got through. Not big enough for the horses, though, don’t worry. Jojustin told some of the houseboys to see to the fences, and Terril said he’d keep a look out for the wolves. You coming down?”

“Wolves? Maybe Terril should have some of the mastiffs with him.”

Patwin’s expression filled with sympathy. “Don’t worry, Richius. They’re far away on the north acres, probably looking for food. You know the first snow makes them crazy. I’ll take some of the dogs over to Terril later if you like, but it’s nothing to be concerned about. What about breakfast? I’m starved.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you downstairs. Start without me if you want.”

“We’ll wait. Jojustin wants to talk to you, and Jenna won’t serve us if she thinks your food will get cold. Just try to hurry.”

“I will,” said Richius and closed the window, shutting out the draft. The thought of breakfast hadn’t occurred to him until Patwin mentioned it, but now that it did it set his stomach rumbling. He had only picked at his suppers the last few nights, leaving Jojustin to think that a fever had caught hold of him. But Richius knew it wasn’t a fever that kept him from eating. What
had suppressed his appetite was more like apathy. Since coming home, food no longer had the importance it did in the valley, and there were no more dreams or long talks of it. Yet this morning, perhaps through the intangible power of snow, his appetite had returned, and it pleased him.

He hurriedly finished washing, and dressed himself in a finely tailored pair of trousers and a shirt. Jenna had made the shirt for him. She had said it would keep him warm on just such a morning and she’d been right, but as he put it on he began to dread the look of satisfaction she would give him when she noticed him wearing it. Everybody knew how Jenna felt about him, and it was becoming irritating. Worse, there was nothing he could do but endure it. Jenna was far too sweet to explain things to, and Richius guessed she would be mortified if he even tried. So he would wear the warm, well-made shirt and that would be the end of it. Unless Patwin started gibing him again.

When he was done smoothing down the wrinkles on his pants, he slipped his feet into a stout pair of riding boots and went to the door, careful to check himself in the mirror one last time. Jojustin had been fussing like a mother over his appearance lately, and he didn’t want to give his steward any more reasons to worry. He would eat a hearty breakfast this morning, do his best to be cheerful, and put this talk of fevers and depressions away for good. Today there was important work to do.

He followed the smell of honey and eggs down the twisting, granite staircase past the kitchen to the small dining chamber where he always took his meals, careful not to let Jenna see or hear him. The young woman, busily occupied with the pans and ovens, took no notice of him as he slipped past. In the dining chamber he found Patwin and Jojustin, both still dressed in their riding gear and sipping mugs of barley beer.

“Good morning,” said Jojustin sunnily, pouring Richius a mug of the beer and handing it to him. Richius accepted the drink gratefully and sat down. The table was set with stoneware, and at its center sat a small bouquet of winter lilies. Richius eyed the flowers suspiciously.

“Jenna?”

Jojustin smiled. “She’s just trying to make you feel comfortable, lad. Ignore it if you want but don’t say anything. It’d only hurt her.”

“Of course I won’t. I just wish everyone would stop worrying so much about me. I admit the last few weeks were a little tough but I’m fine now, really.”

“You are looking better today,” admitted Jojustin. “Sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you,” answered Richius, taking a sip from his mug.

“We got snow last night. Did you see it?”

Richius turned an admonishing stare on Patwin. “I saw it. Felt it, too.”

Patwin chuckled. “Are you all right, Richius? The side of your face looks a little red.”

“What’s this?” asked Jojustin, inspecting Richius’ face from across the table. Richius waved away the old man’s concern.

“It’s nothing. Just a little accident. Pass the bread, will you please?”

Jojustin passed a plateful of warm honey bread to Richius. The scent of the steaming grains and honey was intoxicating. Richius stuffed a piece of the bread into his mouth and passed the plate on to Patwin, who greedily snatched up two slices.

“Richius,” said Patwin between bites. “Remember how Dinadin used to always talk about food before going to sleep?” He turned to Jojustin and went on, “Every night he’d tell us about some new specialty of his mother’s. Maybe one night would be roast goose, the next leg of veal. And he’d always tell us just before we turned in. God, it was impossible to sleep after talking to him!”

“And we’d have nothing but stale army bread to satisfy us,” said Richius, shaking his head. “I remember.”

“Stale bread?” came a young, shining voice. “That bread’s as fresh as the snow outside. What’s wrong with it?”

Richius looked up into Jenna’s brown eyes. “The bread’s fine, Jenna, really. It’s wonderful.” He peered up into the plates of steaming eggs and sausage she was carrying. “That looks pretty good, too.”

She smiled and gave Richius his breakfast first, setting the plate down before him with a flourish. “I know how fond you are of sweet sausage, Richius. I had Elena make some up for you special. The way you like it—not too hot.” She put Patwin’s plate
down next. “We have to get you back on your feet, fatten you up like this one here.”

Patwin sat up indignantly. “It’s fine for you, Jenna. You didn’t spend three weeks riding through Lucel-Lor looking for Richius. I went almost four days once without eating. Why, I was half dead when I finally found him and Dinadin.” Patwin pointed his fork at Richius. “Tell her, Richius.”

Richius glared at Patwin slyly. “I can’t recall.”

“I thought not,” said Jenna, at last serving Jojustin. “Just more of your tall tales, eh, Patwin? Sometimes I think the only reason you stay around here is to get more of my cooking. You look fit enough to me.”

Patwin reached out and lightly slapped Jenna’s rump. “Fit enough for you and more, girl. Why don’t you go warm up some spice wine for us? Richius has his appetite back today. What do you say, Richius?”

Richius shrugged. “Fine.”

When Jenna had gone, Patwin leaned forward to Richius. “What did you say that for? Now she thinks I’ve been lying to her. You know I was telling the truth.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” said Richius lazily. “Of course I know it’s the truth. Jenna knows it, too. She’s just playing with you.” Then, grinning, he added, “Maybe she’s a little sweet on
you.
”

Patwin sat back, coloring at the suggestion.

“Personally, I think she’d be good for either of you,” said Jojustin. “And she comes from a hardworking family, so there’s nothing for you to turn your nose up at, Richius.”

Richius grimaced. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Well you should. Pretty girl like that. She’d make you a fine wife. You have to start thinking about these things, start thinking like a king.”

The word
king
made Richius drop his fork. “I’m not the king, Jojustin. The only king of Aramoor is my father, and he’s dead.” He retrieved his fork and started toying with his eggs, drawing little patterns in the yolks. “Please stop calling me that.”

“Richius, listen to me,” said Jojustin easily. “I’ve been avoiding this lately, but you have to face it. You were king the moment Darius was slain. You have responsibilities.”

“Right now my responsibility is to make sure we’re ready to
defend ourselves against Arkus. We have horses to train, supplies to gather.…”

“Enough,” interrupted Jojustin. “No more talk of war with Arkus. I sent word to him after your father died. If he was going to send his legions he would have done so by now. Really, Richius, why do you think such thoughts?”

“We may be talking about treason, Jojustin. Do you really think the emperor is so forgiving? Don’t you think he knows why we lost the war?”

Jojustin looked at him sharply. “What do you think?”

Richius sat back. “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you read your father’s letter and find out?”

There was an expectant silence. Richius felt Jojustin’s eyes burning into him. Patwin had stopped eating. At last he said quietly, “I can’t.” He lowered his fork again and stared down into his plate. The eggs had cooled into rubbery lumps. “Why did he do this to me?”

Jojustin slid his hand onto Richius’. “He did it to save Aramoor, lad. Maybe it was misguided, but that was his reason. You know how much he loved you. He didn’t abandon you easily. Believe me, I know.”

“Do
you
think his reasons were misguided?”

“Ah, well now …” Jojustin leaned back, choosing his words with care. “Your father was always at odds with the emperor. I don’t think he really weighed everything fairly. Aramoor stood to gain considerable favor with Arkus if we’d won the war.” His expression soured. “It would have been nice to unseat Talistan as Arkus’ favorite in this part of the Empire.”

“Now we’re Arkus’ enemy,” said Richius sullenly.

“No,” Jojustin assured him. “I think your father’s death is good enough for Arkus. And I don’t think he wants any more wars, not within the Empire. He’s far too busy fighting Liss to bother with us. He needs a king here. Someone he can depend on to take care of the land. Someone the people will follow.”

“Someone like you, Richius,” said Patwin past a mouthful of sausage. “Think of it,” he added theatrically. “King Richius!”

Richius frowned. He thought of Edgard’s final words to him, remembered how the old war duke had tried to convince him that Arkus might simply be satisfied by his father’s death. Somehow
a Triin assassin had stolen that pleasure from the emperor, but the result was the same. Darius, the thorn in Arkus’ side, the man who had cost him all the untold riches of Lucel-Lor, was out of the way. It was an ugly notion, but conceivable.

“I can’t believe it,” concluded Richius finally. “If Arkus is planning to make me king, why haven’t we heard anything?”

“These decisions aren’t made quickly, lad. Arkus has politics to consider. There are a lot of ambitious nations in Nar, countries with kings less honorable than your father. Like the Gayles.” A shadow of disgust darkened his face. “You can bet they’ve been whispering in the emperor’s ear.”

Patwin perked up. “Did you hear about Blackwood Gayle, Richius?”

“What about him?”

“He’s not dead. Terril talked to someone who’s seen him.”

“Not dead?” blurted Richius. They had all assumed Blackwood Gayle had perished with his horsemen at Mount Godon. It was the only bright spot in the whole sordid ordeal. “How can that be? Did you know about this, Jojustin?”

Jojustin nodded. “I knew,” he said glumly. “I can’t say I’m glad about it.”

“He’s wearing a mask now,” Patwin went on. “Remember that fire you saw? Well, Edgard wasn’t the only one attacked by it. Gayle’s horsemen got it, too, all the way in Tatterak. They say it took half Gayle’s face off.”

“Only half?” growled Jojustin. “The bastard should be happy. He was luckier than Edgard.”

“Alive,” Richius said incredulously. “How could the horsemen have survived it?”

“That’s just it,” said Patwin. “They didn’t survive. Just Blackwood Gayle.”

“You mean he left his men behind?”

“Left them to die like pigs in a slaughterhouse. Almost everyone else was killed except for Colonel Trosk. I heard he made it out, too.”